The woman who inherited three husbands

The room still smelled faintly of whiskey. Three crystal decanters sat open on the bar beside a half-empty glass she didn't remember refilling. She hadn't cried when the doctor pronounced her father dead. She hadn't cried while signing the paperwork. Instead, she'd spent the night drinking, hoping sleep would numb the ache in her chest.

It hadn't.

By noon, she had to call Arthur Wellington's business partners and postpone the billion-dollar merger meeting scheduled for that day. Keeping Wellington Group running was one thing. Keeping investors and the stock market from panicking was another. She had exactly one week to gather her father's presentations, secure the legal tenders, and reassure the board that the company would continue operating without interruption.

Her father's death still didn't feel real.

Just forty-eight hours earlier, Arthur Wellington had toured three production sites, chaired four back-to-back meetings, and carried himself with the energy of a man half his age. Anyone who saw him that afternoon would never have imagined he'd be dead before the night was over.

According to his maid, Arthur returned home just after eight, ate a light dinner in silence, and retired to his bedroom. When he failed to wake for his usual five o'clock espresso, the maid assumed he was exhausted. By seven, worry got the better of her. She found him lying motionless in bed, his body already cold. The family doctor later confirmed that Arthur had suffered a massive heart attack barely five minutes after climbing into bed.

Salma had always believed her father would outlive everyone. He never missed a board meeting. Never caught a cold. Never forgot a face or a name. Arthur Wellington had always seemed untouchable.

Death had no business knocking on his door.

A full day after his death, Salma descended the grand staircase of her childhood home. The mansion felt unnaturally quiet. Curtains remained half-drawn against the morning sun, while fresh lilies filled the hallways with a sweet fragrance that couldn't quite hide the heaviness hanging in the air. Staff moved silently through the house, avoiding eye contact as though speaking too loudly might somehow disturb the dead.

The steady chime of the antique grandfather clock echoed through the empty dining hall.

A maid appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Good morning, Ms. Salma. Would you like some breakfast?"

Salma gave a tired nod.

"Black coffee and toast. Bring it to the morning room."

She settled into an armchair, her eyes drifting to the television. Every news channel carried the same headline.

Billionaire Business Mogul Arthur Wellington Dies at Sixty-Five.

Since the news broke, her phone hadn't stopped ringing. Relatives, politicians, business associates, and Arthur's surviving wives all wanted her attention.

None of those women had given Arthur a biological child.

Salma remained his only heir.

The maid had barely placed the silver tray on the table when her phone buzzed.

Family Meeting — Grand Parlor. 10:00 a.m.

Her eyes flicked to the wall clock.

9:00 a.m.

Damn.

The alcohol had made her oversleep.

She forced down two slices of toast, drained half her coffee, and quickly texted her assistant.

Reschedule all my business meetings. I'm unavailable today.

Her relationship with Arthur had never been easy. He'd separated from her mother when she was ten, and although they never officially divorced, the separation had turned into a years-long public war. Her mother dragged him through court for larger settlements while making headlines with younger lovers. Arthur responded the only way he knew how—by burying himself in work and treating marriage like another corporate acquisition.

Over the years, he'd married eight women, each union strengthening his influence, wealth, or political connections. Love had never entered the equation. Even at sixty-five, Arthur still looked twenty years younger, making his sudden death almost impossible to believe.

Salma stared at her father's face on the television one last time before reaching for the remote and switching it off.

Her assistant had warned her that the family lawyers insisted every member of the Wellington family be present before the will was read.

She didn't care about the inheritance. She only wanted the morning to be over.

But between grieving widows and Arthur Wellington's final wishes...

Today was going to be hell.

Closing her eyes, Salma drew a slow breath and braced herself for the storm. She had no idea her father's final decision was about to change her life forever.

Silence settled over the morning room.

Salma's gaze drifted to the framed photograph resting on the console. Arthur Wellington stared back at her in an impeccably tailored navy-blue suit she didn't recognize. He had the same confident smile on his face was the same one he had always worn.

It was strange.

She couldn't remember him ever looking old.

Arthur had always seemed larger than life. He walked with the confidence of a man who expected the world to make room for him, and somehow, it always did.

For a long moment, she simply stared at the photograph.

She hadn't grown up with him the way most daughters grew up with their fathers. Nannies had raised her. Private tutors had educated her. Whenever one of Arthur's wives decided Salma demanded too much of his attention, she found herself enrolled in yet another prestigious boarding school several states away. It became an unspoken pattern neither of them ever acknowledged.

Oddly enough, distance never made him absent.

Every school holiday, Arthur insisted they spend time together at the Wellington country estate. He taught her to ride horses before she was tall enough to climb into the saddle without help, took her hunting through the estate's sprawling forests, and showed her how to read people long before he taught her how to read balance sheets. By the time she turned fifteen, he had already begun taking her into board meetings, explaining mergers over dinner and turning business strategy into ordinary conversation. While other teenagers worried about examinations and prom dates, Salma was learning how to negotiate with CEOs twice her age.

Arthur had never hidden what he wanted. One day, Wellington Group would belong to her.

His obsession with her personal life began years later.

After quietly ordering paternity tests on every child his wives claimed was his, Arthur discovered the truth he had spent years refusing to confront. Not one of them carried Wellington blood. Further medical examinations only confirmed his worst fear. His sperm count was dangerously low, making the chances of fathering another biological child almost impossible.

The revelation changed him.

He never shared it with any of his wives. Instead, he carried the burden alone, confiding only in Salma.

From that day forward, every promising bachelor somehow found his way into her life. Young executives appeared at family dinners. Sons of politicians suddenly attended charity galas. Heirs to old-money families conveniently showed up at business retreats she was expected to accompany him to. Arthur never demanded that she get married, but his intentions were painfully obvious. He wanted grandchildren. He wanted the Wellington bloodline to survive him.

The only problem was that Salma had spent her entire adult life falling in love with women.

Sometimes she wondered if any of his wives suspected the truth. If they did, they hid it well enough to spend years raising children beneath the Wellington name, content to let the rest of the world believe the dynasty was flourishing.

She glanced at the clock before finishing the last of her coffee. The family meeting would begin in less than an hour. With a quiet sigh, she rose from her seat and headed upstairs to get ready.